Hunger Pangs
by lovinthor
Summary: Somehow, without the special nutrients HYDRA had given him, or his super metabolism, or both, the Winter Soldier is always Hungry. Post Cap2, implied Stucky if you squint.


**(So this plot bunny crawled into my head and I just had to write it down. I can't get enough Bucky angst! I guess I enjoy hurting myself. :/ I love reviews, so review)**

The Winter Soldier hasn't been human in so long he barely knows what it feels like anymore.

His handlers never educated him on bodily needs. His nutrients were supplied via long tubes when he was asleep for decades. He rarely needed them when he was awake; he was expected to work, to complete his mission. His handlers always kept him in the very best condition. Like a careful owner oiling his rifle.

He never considered what it was like taking care of himself, without his handlers. That his body had a long list of needs that needed to be fulfilled, and painful ways of reminding him of its needs.

He feels hunger for the first time about two days after dragging the man out the Potomac. Except he doesn't know what it is, and he panics. He curls in on himself on the dirty floor of the gutted building in DC he's found shelter in, both flesh and metal arm clenched around his abdomen to try and crush the ache and muffle the rumbling sounds coming from his stomach. He breathes hard, wondering if this is some kind of kill switch implanted by HYDRA. But no, it surely would have killed him by now. Why wait two whole days after he failed his mission?

He discovers what his body wants a few hours later, wandering the streets and trying to ignore the persistent, tearing ache that keeps clawing at his insides. As he passes neon colored building the smell hits him, a smell he can't quite place, but so appealing it makes him stop dead in his tracks. The ache twists his gut even more painfully and the rumbling sound comes again loudly, as if it's actually begging him. He swallows hard against the sudden rush of saliva in his mouth and looks into the window of the building. People hover over plates of what he remembers is called food. He never considered that his body would desire food like normal civilians.

It occurs to him that he needs money to purchase food, money that he does not have.

Out of the corner of his eye he spots a dumpster adjacent to the building. It's half open, and he can see what looks to be scraps of food spilling out of the plastic bags. He feels himself walking to the bin, his whole body craving food with such intensity that it frightens him. His plunges his metal arm into the dumpster, fishing out scraps of food which he devours, instinct seeming to take over in terms of how to eat. He reaches the bottom of the bin, unwilling to touch the rotted food that is stuck to the sides.

And he's still hungry.

The problem is, without the nutrients HYDRA once gave him, or due to his enhanced metabolism, or both, the Winter Soldier is always hungry.

He keeps going back to dumpsters around DC, but nothing he ever finds there is enough to satisfy. Sometimes he'll beg or steal money off someone, enough to buy him bread or something from a convenience store. Sometimes he breaks into a house and steals from the kitchen, not enough for anyone to notice what's missing. But it's never enough to fill the gaping void completely. Sometimes he feels like the hunger actually _worsens _after he's eaten, as if it's reminded that there should be something more in there.

But even as his stomach pangs relentlessly, the soldier doesn't once think about returning to HYDRA. He's hungry, but at least he can think for himself, at least he's not a weapon. At least he's discovering pieces of who he is.

Sometimes with the hunger come memories. Flashes of an apartment nearly as cold as the snow falling outside, a small boy with deep blue eyes that nearly consumed his face. Him pushing his own half-empty plate toward that boy, claiming he wasn't hungry. Poverty and cold and sharp, biting emptiness.

These memories keep the soldier awake at night, curled up on the floor of the gutted building he now calls home, the silence only broken by the faint sound of traffic outside and the much louder growling of his stomach. He knows the boy in these memories is the man on the bridge, the man he saved. He pulls his dirty jacket closer around himself and feels another emptiness slowly opening in his heart. Despite the hardship, he wanted to be back there, to have someone to be hungry _for. _He is more than aware of the fact that he was alone, hungry and alone, and he curls up into a ball as the hot tears prick his eyes.

The next day he stumbles upon the soup kitchen. There he is served a meal that's slightly more filling than what he's been scavenging over the last two weeks. He comes back every day, never talking, taking his soup and leaving. He's still hungry most of the time, but at least the soup partly fills the void.

It's about a week of visiting the soup kitchen when the soldier walks in and freezes.

The man on the bridge, standing behind the counter and serving soup, shooing away the reporters that have somehow appeared at the door.

The soldier turns and bolts out the door, ducking into an alley and leaning against the wall, breathing hard. He isn't ready the face the man yet; the shame is still too much. But the smell of soup wafting from the building is warm and rich and his stomach growls fiercely and he's just so damn _hungry _that he pulls his cap lower over his eyes and reenters the building, hoping to grab the food and be out before the man could see him.

His has his flesh hand wrapped around his cup of soup and is about to leave the line when the man looks up from the counter and his eyes go wide. "Bucky?"

The soldier looks up into his blue eyes, the one's from his memories, and the name comes out like a prayer on his lips. "Steve?"

Steve looks him over. Bucky knows he looks terrible, he hasn't made an effort to bathe in the weeks he's been living on the streets, and he looks away in shame.

"Bucky." Steve's voice is the gentlest he's ever heard. "Come on, let's sit down." Steve gets out from behind the counter and leads him to one of the long wooden benches.

He sits across from him. "I-I looked for you, Buck. For weeks." Steve fiddles with the stained apron he's wearing. "I just started volunteering here. Thought I'd give a little something back."

Bucky nods but says nothing, looking back down at his soup. When Steve recognized him he forgot, for the first time, how hungry he was. He lifts the cup to his mouth and drains it, wincing as his stomach grumbles for more.

Steve gives him a small smile. "The super metabolism is hard to get used to. Bruce invented special food with a lot more nutrients. It'll fill you right up."

Bucky winces and speaks for the first time in weeks. "It's been so hard, but I remember you, Steve, but when you were small."

Steve reaches across the table and gently clasps Bucky's hand. "Come with me, Buck, I can help you remember. You need a shower and a filling meal. You don't exactly look like you've been eating well these past few weeks."

Bucky stays quiet a moment, then nods yes. Steve smiles broadly, then gets up and clasps Bucky in a hug. "I missed you." He whispers.

And Bucky finds himself hugging back, tears filling his eyes.

His stomach is still empty, but at least his heart isn't.


End file.
